Mercy
We couldn’t look up. The blue was too bright for our eyes so we looked down at the sheep, its coat brushed with red dirt, stray bits of hay stuck here and there at the ends. Some men gathered around and pushed the sheep down on its side. One man with a rope grabbed its front and back legs and tied them together. The sheep didn’t bleat, not once. They asked for volunteers. She raised her hand. The sheep lay docile. Almost serene. A man pointed at her. His silver hair hung in a loose braid down his back. The lines in his face shined with sweat and oil. His eyes sunk deep in their sockets, large. Like a fawn’s. He looked like a statue. You. Come. And You. She walked forward. A lanky boy lumbered to the front with her. He handed the boy a knife with a curved blade and a worn handle. Blade’s sharp. Yessir. Come here, right above it. She crouched over the sheep one leg on either side of its body and looked down. The sheep looked up at her, not understanding. Its eyes full of nothing but life. Okay. Said the man. You’re going to slit its throat, right there, and you’re going to crack its neck back as hard as you can, at the same time. Understand? Yes. They nodded. Alright. One two. Three. The boy made a cut. The knife was sharp, the sheep’s flesh like water. He blinked. The girl dug her elbows into the sheep’s shoulders and wrenched its head toward the sky, throwing her weight onto its back. The neck broke but it didn’t snap. Not the way it should. Blood spilled into a metal basin. The sheep screamed. A silent scream – its vocal cords were cut – its mouth open and shut – open and shut – its neck gaping. She wrenched it again. Again. Agony. The sheep’s eyes pinned its legs flailed bound together buckling together its chest heaving and heaving with suffering. Pure ferocious suffering. With every soundless cry blood rushed out its neck into the basin. Finally someone shoved her off and cracked the neck, the sound of bone breaking the air, stilling it. Everything tensed and fell limp. In the same instant.